Uriah Moon 2 by Gary Wayne

Author:Gary Wayne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gunfighters, vigilantes, piccadilly publishing, action western series, southwest usa, 1880s westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Eleven

LIKE A PHANTOM, Uriah Moon moved silently across the weather worn ground between the hotel and the large structure where his horse was stalled. The tall vigilante did not make a sound as he strode toward the lantern lit livery. Not even his spurs dared to betray him.

The smell of the livery stable greeted the vigilante long before the burly Gus Thorson was aware that Moon had entered and was watching him. Moon’s ice blue eyes studied the blacksmith for a few moments before the big man noticed that the mysterious stranger had returned and was framed between its tall barn doors bathed in lantern light.

The haunting sight caused the muscular man to nervously jump backwards from his forge until he recognized the familiar figure.

‘Hell. You done scared the life out of me, Moon,’ Thorson announced as he rested a massive hand on the wall of the livery and stared through the half-light at the tall figure. ‘A man built like you oughta make more noise when he walks. Hell, you’re as quiet as a mountain lion hunting his supper.’

Moon nodded. ‘Maybe that’s what I am, Gus.’

The startled blacksmith rubbed his sweaty neck and shook his head. So many things about Moon frustrated Thorson as he was unable to work the character out. Most men were simple to understand but not the tall vigilante.

Uriah Moon puzzled the blacksmith.

‘How come you’re here?’ Thorson asked as he rested beside the forge. ‘You need something?’

‘Yep, I need something,’ Moon answered.

The blacksmith shrugged. ‘What do you need?’

Moon lowered his head and studied the blacksmith with his icy stare.

‘I want you to get my horse ready for a long journey, Gus,’ Moon said in a low drawl as he silently paced toward the large man beside the warming coals. ‘And add three extra canteens of water to my trail gear.’

With the warming heat of the forge on his shoulders, Thorson stared hard at the vigilante who stood close to his mustang. The blacksmith was curious as to why anyone would head out on a long journey just after sundown. Unless they intended heading into the perilous desert.

‘Why in tarnation would you need three more canteens,’ Thorson scratched his thinning hair and stared at the man who moved silently across the sod floor toward him. Moon reached the massive blacksmith and halted. He warmed his hands and looked down upon the seated Thorson.

‘I’ve got a very long ride ahead of me,’ Moon replied. ‘I’ll need extra water for the horse in case the water holes I know about have dried up.’

Thorson stood back up and walked toward the well-rested mustang with the far taller man close behind him. He glanced over his muscular shoulder at the expressionless Moon as he led the horse out of its stall to prepare the animal.

‘Where you headed to, Moon?’ Thorson asked the lethal vigilante.

There was a long silence until Moon decided to answer.

‘Fort Hook,’ he replied.

Thorson stopped in his tracks. Like everyone else in the remote settlement he had heard the horrific stories concerning the infamous Fort Hook.

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